


Shower without Rain

by AngeNoir



Category: Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: F/M, Family, Fluff, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:43:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2810855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're not going to stop worrying about him," Adam tells her. "Go on over."</p>
<p>So she goes over to the man who took her in, as close to her as her foster father and her mother, and plops herself down.</p>
<p>“You look like a stalker. Or a pedophile.”</p>
<p>Bran raised an eyebrow at her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shower without Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mpatientdreamr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mpatientdreamr/gifts).



> I'm not entirely sure if this is what you want, but I hope it works!

She watched him quietly, keeping her thoughts to herself even as she helped plate and pass out food to people, welcoming them to the picnic as she did so. She had wanted him to come, had asked him to come, but now he lurked on the edges. It was making people uneasy, and it wasn’t exactly something she liked to see. After all, he meant a lot to her, and the fact that he was too uncomfortable to really be a part of the festivities upset her.

“Look, if all you’re going to do is brood about him, why don’t I get Jesse to do this and you go see what’s bothering him,” Adam rumbled behind her.

“He doesn’t like being bothered when he’s in his moods like this, I don’t think,” she said quietly – not that she thought no one would hear her, but that at Adam’s voice level Bran could hear them, and to imply that she was worried about Bran implied she thought him weak.

Not, of course, that anyone would ever mistake Bran for weak should they challenge him, but he did not cut a very impressive picture. Both his sons – her eyes picked out Sam over to one side, minus his new wife because she still had difficulties around werewolves and this was primarily a werewolf function, and then settled on silent Charles who stood next to his wife, Anna Latham – were radically different from his body type. Still, in facial structure and quiet presence you could tell they were related.

Surrounded by many wolves, most of which were men and muscled and powerful, Bran looked unimposing. He also looked different, held apart the way he was.

“You’re never going to settle down until you ask him to join the rest of us,” Adam whispered into her ear, pressing a kiss to the tip of it. “Go on. He won’t be upset.”

Heaving a sigh, she took off her apron and gloves and waved Jesse over. “I’m going to check on Bran,” she muttered.

Jesse laughed. “I think he’d like that. And I’ll take over here, don’t worry.”

It wasn’t as if she could sneak up on him, so she took the direct route, walking over to where he stood on the outskirts of the big picnic area. They’d chosen a park because they needed the space for the whole pack, and because Charles didn’t enjoy being in cities all that much in general. Not that Mercy worried one way or the other for Charles; he could take care of himself.

Also, she had a feeling Anna took care of Charles just as well. She rather liked her pseudo-sister-in-law.

“You look like a stalker,” she told Bran as she walked over. “Or a pedophile.”

Bran raised an eyebrow. “A pedophile?”

“You know. One of those lurkers that just watches kids on a playground.” Mercy bumped her shoulder against his, smiling. “The least you could do is come on over, be a part of everything.”

Bran laughed. “I’m fine, Mercy. You should be over there, in the center of everyone. After all, this is for you.”

“It’s as much for Adam as it is for me. And I’m very glad Sam could make it. I worried.”

Bran glanced over at his son, and that was the Bran she knew and loved – the father, the man who worried about his sons and cared, not the manipulator she saw sitting here on the edge, refusing to interact. “Arianna’s good for him,” Bran murmured. “I think he’ll be just fine.” He turned his attention back to her. “So I guess I can’t nag you for grandchildren anymore, can I?”

“It’s not like Adam can knock me up twice,” Mercy agreed, hopping onto the picnic table and smiling sunnily. “You could always worry at me for twins, I suppose.”

She had the pleasure of shocking him enough that it crossed across his face, a flash of almost grandparent-ish terror and pleased surprise. “You’re not really having twins though,” he said solemnly, and she snickered.

“You can hear their heartbeats, I assume?”

Bran heaved a sigh and motioned for her to come closer. She did, wiggling down the rough wood of the table so he could lean his head against her stomach. Adam paused – he, of course, was keeping an eye on them, after that mess with the troll – but after a few minutes consciously relaxed. Bran never was a threat unless he was deliberately trying to be one.

“I can only hear one heartbeat,” Bran said finally. “But babies don’t really get heartbeats until the sixth to tenth week of pregnancy, I thought.”

Mercy squinted at him. “That’s oddly specific knowledge,” she said slowly. “Have you been – reading up on children?”

“There’s a lot of knowledge out there now,” Bran said, and his voice was mild but she was certain she could hear some level of defensiveness in it. “It’d be stupid not to take advantage of it.”

She found it oddly sweet, but didn’t push it. Bran might tease her, but she never forgot he was the Marrok, even if he treated her differently. She knew now his depth of caring for her, that he personally would come down and face a Grey Lord for her, but it still… awed her, in a way. She knew what her life had been like in his pack, and maybe her age had colored her vision, given her a bias she hadn’t realized, but it was still hard to reconcile this affable and warmhearted man with the ruler of Aspen Creek’s pack she had known as a child.

She almost said something she’d regret – namely, ask him where Leah was, because he had managed to take the time to come to the baby shower along with Charles _and_ Sam, and yet Leah was suspiciously absent – but he looked relaxed, and her job wasn’t to alienate him but include him.

“Come on. Sitting here on the edge is pointless. If you’re at a baby shower you’re supposed to coo over me and then talk with other people about how I’m either showing too much or not at all,” she said, nudging him gently.

He frowned at her. “And how would you know that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. That’s what I’ve gathered by what Honey and Aurielle have done so far.”

He tilted his head and looked at her abdomen. “How are you supposed to show when you’re barely a month and a half in?”

“Come join us, Bran,” she huffed. “Who knows, you might even like it. Have you met Jesse? I could introduce you two.”

Bran allowed her to drag her down to the rest of the group, and she noticed some wolves pulling back, becoming reserved – but some wolves made room for him at a table.

And if he looked like a king whether he was on the outside of the gathering or sitting in the middle of it, well.

He _was_ the Marrok, after all, and she his daughter in all but blood.


End file.
